


Like Silver Glass

by thejamesoldier



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bucky Barnes & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Bucky Barnes & Steve Rogers Friendship, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Fluff, Eventual Smut maybe, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Merpeople, Merpeople AU, Protective Bucky Barnes, Sirens, merman!bucky barnes, merman!sam wilson, merman!steve rogers, siren!Natasha
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-02
Updated: 2019-02-02
Packaged: 2019-10-06 15:28:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17347742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thejamesoldier/pseuds/thejamesoldier
Summary: Out of all the things you have seen so far in your life – a colorful plethora of alien species, artificial intelligence, an imaginative array of mutants and their abilities, cyborgs, superhumans, assassins, geniuses, etc – merpeople actually fell pretty low on your ‘Shocking Things That Exist’ list.





	1. So Merpeople are a Thing, Apparently

**Author's Note:**

> So this whole thing was inspired by a friend on tumblr (@mattymattymerduck) who encouraged me to write this. Honeslty this was so much fun because 
> 
> 1\. Anything having to do with Bucky is amazing  
> 2\. I am unhealthily obsessed with mermaids and the like
> 
> So here is the merman!bucky fic I promised, enjoy and tell me what you think if you want :)

So when you go snorkeling one day along a reef at a beach nearest to your home, to see if you can find some pretty sea shells to get your best friend for their birthday (because you’re feeling extra  ~~and are kind of broke~~  and wanted to get the shells yourself instead of going to a shop and purchasing one of the perfect polished ones), and a pair of the bluest eyes –  _a color even crisper and darker than the sparkling turquoise of the water_  – you have ever seen are staring at you, quite perplexedly, through a hole on the opposite side of the coral mound you’re picking along, you almost nearly go into cardiac arrest.

And not because it was unusual to see someone without any underwater gear on, but because you are, bless your soul, a genuinely jumpy person with nerves like a squirrel’s.

You rocket up from the rolling sand floor with a catapulting push from your flipper covered feet and a burst of bubbles from your mouth, breaking the surface with a loud gasp as you dramatically rip your mask off. Your heart beat slows as you continue to breathe and tread water easily. You quickly scan the clear ocean below you, and when you see nothing but the occasional fish and splash of color from the reef through the blurry kaleidoscope of the water’s surface, you conclude that you probably almost shat yourself over a gawking fish. The eyes did seem to be set on a flat human face, not on either side of a pointed slimy head, but you shrug, roll your eyes, and settle the snorkel mask comfortably back over your eyes and nose. You pop the mouth piece in and take a deep breath before diving back under. Cautiously you make your way down to the spot you were searching before.

 _Damn it_ , you curse internally as you take in the bare sand that you could have sworn you dropped the current shell you had been admiring before you took your impromptu breath of air. With gentle fingers you stir up the soft sand dunes around the coral reef, squinting intently through the plastic of the mask, to see if you can spot that pretty shell you had found before you scared yourself over a fish.

Well  _technically_ , you weren’t wrong.

A hand pops out of seemingly no where, shoving its open palm right under your nose. With yet another startle you jolt in the water and follow the connecting golden thick wrist to–muscular forearm–bulging bicep–naked hard shoulder– _wide jawline-_ - _generous lips–strong nose–_

You freeze when you come to a halting stop at the _bluest eyes you have ever seen_.

A halo of the richest coffee hair floats around the frame of its –  _his_ , its a  _he_ you realize – face like a dark blurry vignette. It takes you a moment (or fifty) to circle back to earth from the swooning anarchy that is your brain before you remember to freak out because this, in fact, isn’t normal. Well, normal is kind of objective but you freak out none the less.

Before you can push back up to the surface though, the other hand of this underwater man-being-person politely grips your chin with his tough thumb and pointer finger knuckle, and guides your wide eyed gaze back down to the open palm still patiently waiting below. There, swaying gently with the current, is the sea shell you had been looking for.  

Against every oddity of this situation you beam like the sun coming out from behind a thick chain of clouds, the mouth piece of your mask hindering the expression a little. Without thinking you tenderly pluck the shell from his palm and hold it up to turn it regardingly in the light tinkling through the shallow layers of ocean. It takes you a second to realize the fingers on your chin have disappeared and with a sense of urgency you turn back to the figure beside you.

He’s gone.

With a frown you rack the ocean around you before having to swim back to the surface for air. After an hour or two you hesitate to leave, having found more than enough shells, but wanting to spot that kind free-diver and thank him (and maybe scold him too for scaring you) for finding your shell. But the sun is sinking quickly into the cool embrace of the blue horizon of the ocean and you weren’t equipped for night-time snorkeling. You sigh in a burst of bubbles and make your way to the shore.

* * *

Having gotten little to no sleep, you return the next day to the same beach and the exact same spot on the reef. You are a determined mostly stubborn human being with a side of peckish curiosity. If you have to spend the entire day here in order to see if you can find that free-diver, than by God and any other deity you  _will_ find him. You got to the beach in the morning and have watched the other beach goers in case you spot him going in. No luck.

With an overly dramatic but quite trademark sigh, you squeak your feet into the flippers, adjust your snorkel, and flop your way into the surf. When you do eventually make it to the spot you were at yesterday, you don’t really know what to do. You tug at your knit bag (for carrying the shells or whatever other treasures you might find) that’s tied to the string of your two piece at your hip subconsciously. With an underwater shrug you settle on exploring.

The sea is calm. Wrapping itself like a living blanket around you, surrounding you with pleasant silence and glistening colorful life. The chorus of ‘Under the Sea’ starts to play on repeat in your head but you quickly attempt to jam the stop button on Sebastian the lobster’s voice. You lose track of time as you drift about inspecting the watery world around you. Its beautiful. Its serene. Its private. Its safe. Its –

_Holy shit what was that?!_

A huge tail the color of iridescent sterling, like the scales on a silver salmon winks shyly at you as it disappears with a powerful flick behind a wall of coral. That was definitely a fin. A fin you’re sure was larger than a dolphin’s. You have the urge to take a deep breath to calm yourself but are immediately unable to due to the regretful fact that you, unfortunately, can’t breathe under water. Quickly, you break for air and paddle back down, slowly swimming over to the edge of the tall wall of coral you saw the mysterious tail disappear behind.

In the back of your mind you realize that this was potentially an idiotic thing to do. It could be anything, it could be a shark.

You halt momentarily in fear but remember the tail beating up and down, not side to side. With this thought you unfreeze and continue making your way to the edge. You stop just before the turn and carefully peak around the corner.

Nothing.

Your shoulders sag even though no air is left in your lungs. This was starting to make you feel ridiculous, surely you are seeing things. I mean free-divers that don’t at least where goggles? Silver tails larger than a dolphin’s? Your mind wrestles with itself when a certain suggestion pops up: mermaid – or  _merman_ , if your mysterious free-diver dude was anything to go by.

With a shake of your head you float back up to the surface and toss your arms over a tip of coral rock that breaks the surface of the current, forming a little island about a few feet in diameter. You’re much too busy grumbling to yourself about mermen and talking lobsters as you take off your snorkel mask, that you completely miss the person on the other side of the rock, elbows hooked over the edge, chin in his hand, eyebrow raised in amusement, and smart mouth quirked with slight perplexity, simply observing you.

“Good Christ!” You exclaim when you realize  _the bluest pair of eyes you’ve ever seen_ are staring at you. 

In your now increasingly familiar expression of startlement, the man across from you just raises his other eyebrow to join its brother.

“You could have at least said hello, or ‘hey, yo this is my rock’ or  _something_ I mean  _Jesus_ ,” You say mostly talking to yourself rather than him as you gather your(dignity)self and finally settle, returning this stranger’s painfully blunt stare. 

His dark brown hair is even darker out of the sparkling sapphire of the water you note rather randomly, but it still manages to catch the overhanging high noon sun in terrific glints of deep bronze. His eyes also capture the sunlight like glittering cobalt crystals reflecting the blue below and above them. His skin is golden, sun-kissed, like it would be warm to touch always.

When you catch yourself staring you almost blush but don’t when you realize the man across from you is giving you the exact same look over. Though, it’s almost like he’s observing you as something extrinsic, exotic, like you’re stardust whispering after a comet.

“Um,” You start with; an oratory spectacle for sure.

He doesn’t say anything in return but offers this indulgent smile that stretches a generously wide mouth and full lips over straight white teeth. There is something so – not necessarily  _off_ , per say, but different about him. Transoceanic. He’s half naked as most men are when swimming so that’s not strange, you start checking off on a mental list. He has two arms, two hands, ten fingers (although you spot some questionable webbing between the digits), two gorgeous abnormally large eyes, one nose, one mouth…everything seems to be in order.

“I’m a merman.” The man states graciously, eyes jumping all over your expression – that reverence he has for you still unapologetically present in his eyes – easily reading the questions surely flashing like street lights in your eyes. 

“Oh,” Is your second oratory spectacle of the afternoon. 

You blink.

He blinks.

The wind kisses both of your temples in approval as it sweeps by.

Not even finding it in yourself  _not_ to believe him right off the bat you try communicating again, “I thought you were supposed to be luring me to my death?”

Without missing a beat the man – er,  _mer_ man that is, replies, “With what? My pecks?”

His expression and pleasantly sarcastic comedic timing would have made you laugh were you not so mystified that you were sitting off shore, bobbing against a coral reef island thingy, bantering with a merman. Stranger things have happened, you figure.  

“I mean, yeah. That’d work.” You play back as you nod your chin approvingly down at his greek god-like sculpted chest. 

There is a couple moments of silence as you both stare owlishly at each other before the two of you break out into a fit of giggles.

“Would you make my 8 year old dreams come true and indulge me in a quick peek?” You ask with an embarrassingly bashful smile, easily wrapping your head around the fact that merpeople are in fact, a thing. You have a very open mind considering how small the world is in the face of the universe, possibilities are truly endless.

The merman stifles another round of chuckles and nods good naturedly before elegantly swooping his tail up and out of the water for your viewing pleasure. The wide tail fin mostly stuck out of the break of the surface, and you  _gasp_. It’s absolutely breath taking. There are blues and silvers and transcendent colors in between that you don’t even think have a place on the color wheel; the scales shudder and twinkle in the light of the day –  _endlessly shimmering_  – like millions of starlets embedded in a silver glass galaxy running along the long curve of the tail. You could only begin to imagine how beautiful it would look in the water, how much it looks like it  _belongs_ there, like its water itself. The fin flukes are lined with packed, thick muscle,  _strong_. You’ve never seen something quite so exotic in your life.

“Okay fair is fair, I showed you mine, now you show me yours.” The merman quips in a weird slightly forced tone (was that a blush rising across those high cheekbones?) after a few moments of awed silence from you. 

As he drops his tail back into the water you, less elegantly, chuck your legs to hook over the mini coral mount and plop your toes a few inches away from his hands. You clutch the side of the island to hold your upper body up and out of the surf. Bucky stares down, adorably puzzled, by the appendages displayed before him. With a careful finger he reaches and pokes the side of your big toe. You bite the grin digging into your cheeks at that.

“Human legs are such befuddling things,” He says off-handedly keeping his gaze intent on your right foot, tracing the tip of his pinky finger along the arch of it. 

You giggle and your foot involuntarily jerks at the light touch. His head snaps up at you in concerned bewilderment,

“It just tickled is all,” You explain when you read the slight panic on his face, like he did something wrong. 

His expression relaxes immediately, “Oh yes, right, Steve told me about that. The human phenomenon of  _tickling_.”

You both sit there in surprisingly comfortable silence as he continues to scientifically observe your ankles, shins, calves, and knees.  _This should be weird,_  you keep thinking,  _but it just isn’t._

“What’s your name?” You ask suddenly at the mention of whoever  _Steve_ was, realizing you didn’t know his name even though he is clearly on first name basis with one of your middle toes. 

The merman glances up at you from his attention to your feet under the shade of thick obsidian lashes, a gorgeous smile curls and hangs cheekily from one corner of his mouth.

“James Barnes, but everyone calls me Bucky.” 

Your eyebrows knit in confusion, “Bucky? Wait  _James Barnes_?”

“What, you have a problem with my name?” James –  _Bucky_ , looks mildly offended by your surprise and flicks at your shin in jesting punishment. 

“No! No, I, I like it! I just thought merpeople had like, merpeople names.” As you say it out loud, you realize how silly it actually sounds. Bucky’s expression of severely unimpressed mirth confirms its ridiculousness.

“And what kind of names would those be?” He asks in this soft, coy, kind of way, his eyes managing to wink at you without actually winking as a smirk lounges on the side of his generous mouth.

“I don’t know like Ariel, Triton, or Coral, maybe Seafoam…” 

Bucky blinks at you once before losing the battle he is obviously fighting with the peel of laughter trapped in the back of his throat, and releases the sound to tinkle in the wind like bass wind chimes. Charmingly, he tucks a few stray locks of his slowly drying hair back behind his ears while slowly shaking his head at you.

“Wow those are good,” Bucky humors you with a grin, catching sight of your blush, “Steve and Sam are gonna  _flip_ ,” he mumbles under his breath as he moves his fingertips away from your toes, draws them up your feet, past your ankles and shins, and settles on tracing the lines of your calves up to your knees.

Goosebumps rise under his touch with the aid of the cool breeze and the warm sun fighting for feeling against your wet sensitive flesh. Bucky’s eyes pop and he all but smashes his nose into your shin to gawk at this natural reaction. You were getting the feeling Bucky the merman was unaware of human spacial awareness and that caressing a stranger’s legs so lightly, sensually, was not common practice. You let his behavior slide for obvious reasons, but also – guiltily – because you  _liked_ it, you wanted him to keep exploring and touching even if a small part of your conscience was scolding you for taking advantage of his merman innocence.  

“Are you gonna tell me you’re name? Or is that to remain a mystery?”

Bucky’s voice snaps you out of the gentle spell his touch had put you under, maybe he was luring you to your death after all. You clear your throat telling yourself it was the salt water you accidentally ingested on the way to the surface and not your nerves clogging the airways.

“Y/n, Y/n Y/l/n.” You answer in a bit of fluster as you blink some stray salt droplets from your eyelashes.

Bucky keeps his eyes down but nods,

“That’s a nice name, not at all what I’d thought a human name would be, though. I mean I was expecting Sand Dune, Beach Ball, maybe Sun Ray–,”

“Oh shut it you,” You scoff mock-offended and reach to shove Bucky’s shoulder with your toes playfully.

He chuckles and let you shove him, briefly catching your eyes before settling your legs back down on the rock and resuming his exploring.

“Who were the shells for?” Bucky asks suspiciously neutral as he keeps his gaze safely locked on your knees.

You cock an eyebrow but indulge him.

“My friend, for her birthday.” You supply with a cordial smile, watching him watch his fingers against your legs still curiously tracing and politely prodding. You couldn’t fight the growing fondness in your heart for the being before you.

“Ah,” Bucky concedes with a causal bob of his head. 

“Thanks by the way, for finding that one I lost yesterday,” You express with a conversational wave of your hand, “It was the best one I’d found.”

“Well it was my fault that you dropped it, I’m sorry about scaring you I didn’t mean to. I just spotted you on my way to meet up with my friends, Steve and Sam, and I couldn’t help but stop and wonder what in God’s blue ocean you were doing picking around the reef. After a time I realized you were looking for shells and…” Bucky trails off as he finally glances up from your legs and catches your expression.

Your eyes had narrowed a little as they sparked with growing mirth while a grin had spread like wild fire on your lips, “Wait, were you  _watching_ me?” 

Bucky’s eyes snap open so wide at the accusation you thought they’d pop out of his head entirely while he snatches his touch away from your legs like they burned him, before shoving them down into the water by his sides. You tilt your head back a little and giggle gently at the expense of his pride but you quickly recover,

“Hey I don’t mind, in fact I feel kinda special. I mean not everyone can say they have a merman friend who watches them gather shells.” You assure him genuinely with your ever present smile crinkling the corners of your eyes. 

“I’m your friend?” Bucky asks in this startled but awed kind of surprise. It wipes the embarrassment and concern clean of his features. His irises glow like carved circlets of frozen glacier with fierce fires burning behind the thick blue walls.

Your heart simply melts.

“Why wouldn’t you be?” You amiably inquire back, bravely locking gazes with Bucky. For some reason those eyes threatened to take you apart, to crack you open and observe,  _understand_. But never judge or harm, no…those eyes would never hurt you.

Bucky shrugs at a loss for an answer but gives you a bashful smile you hadn’t seen him deliver before (not that you’ve known him long enough to tell if it was rare or not). You return the gesture happily.

“Would you like to help me look for some more shells and things? I assume you’re probably much better at that than I ever could be,” You offer after a few beats of content silence, not wanting to leave his company and finding an excuse to have him stick around a little longer. 

Bucky pushes off the coral rock with a grin and jumps his eyebrows at you, “That would be a true statement.”

You roll your eyes but plunk your legs back into the water and start to adjust your mask, as you paddle over to Bucky’s side of the coral peak. Your eyes widen in shock,

“Holy God you’re, you’re  _huge_!” Comes your unfiltered exclamation as you take in the magnificent length, girth, and width of his  _tail_ (HA, I knew what ya’ll were thinking). The tail is at least seven or eight feet on its own.

Bucky turns slowly to you with this closed lipped shit eating smirk, eyes lidded and eyebrows raised high with pride. You groan and once again roll your eyes at him,

“Apparently I can never escape dick jokes, even in the company of a merman,” You fuss stubbornly, although you fight a smile of your own.

Bucky throws his head back and laughs this time at your expense, the sun glinting mystically off the wet sharp edge of his jaw, the tip of his nose, the planes of those stupid pecks.

“Oh,” Bucky says around a chuckle, “You really never disappoint Y/n, I’m carving that down in The Trenches.”

Your eyebrows shoot low over your eyes in confusion, “The trenches?”

“Yes, that’s where all the important scriptures and things are recorded,” He explains half-heartedily as he silences himself by dipping his face down into the water, searching for something, before popping back up.

Bucky ignores your uneased apparent confusion before nodding his head in a certain direction.

“The shells tend to pile up over there, the current carries them that direction and the positioning of the coral catches them.”

Before you can question him he swims close to you, halting all the vital life functions of your body, as he eyes you carefully just a mere foot away. The world narrows to just the two of you as he cautiously holds your chin much like he did the first time with one hand, and grasps the plastic of your mouth piece with the other. You can feel the powerful undulating pull and push of the water against your legs as his tail lazily beats to keep him bobbing next to you. He quaintly adjusts your mouth piece into the practiced snare of your lips before removing all touch from you for a moment. You breathe involuntarily loud through the plastic snorkel mask, Bucky shoots you a half-smile before slowly,  _so slowly_ , wrapping his long webbed fingers around your wrist, his eyes hopping between yours to make sure you were okay with his touch. When the results of his search of your irises gave him a go ahead, Bucky sank into the surf and pulled you down after him.

Under the water, Bucky was even more impossibly handsome than he was above it. His golden skin caught the sun with the same vitality that his tail did. The tail was, to put it simply, absolutely  _resplendent_. It looked like the water itself, glimmering in the light trickling down. If you went up and touched it, you almost believed your fingers would go right through because it was just water, a thick argent current swirling by. His eyes stood out impossibly bold against the color of the water around him and made even more noticeable against a canvas of dark hair that floated around the shape of his head.

You’re glad your mask offers some hindrance to any expression you might be making, keeping your heart safe from Bucky’s searching eyes. He easily pulls you to him, turning his back to you, and takes both your wrists in his hand before placing them gently on his shoulders. A pair of gills tucked high on either side of Bucky’s neck catches your eye, his long dark hair mostly covers them. You clutch quite close to his warm hard shoulders when he releases your wrists and begins to move. Bucky cuts through the water with natural ease, powerful tail and fin moving like steel through warm butter.

He takes you to the shallow reef he was talking about, not too deep and easy access of the surface for air breaks for you. Bucky comes to an elegant slow motion stop in front of the new wall of coral, not hesitating to reach down and immediately start gently brushing his webbed fingers through the sand below. You tenderly sweep his hair floating in your face away as you lean down over his shoulder and squint into the sand to watch his nimble fingers. Your body settles into a floating rest against Bucky’s broad warm back, chin tucked politely over his shoulder as you admire a shell he’s holding up to you. His profile is alarmingly close to yours but you ignore the human laws of stranger spacial awareness, realizing that Bucky’s world doesn’t have them, and release one hand off its place on his shoulder and reach out to take the offered shell from Bucky’s fingers. You slowly turn the pretty shell around for both of you to observe in the light, before nodding your head in approval and tucking the shell safely in the knit bag at your hip.

This process goes on for awhile, taking short intermissions when you need to break for air. At some point you leave the comfort of Bucky’s back and swim around yourself, searching for small treasures. Bucky would swim up to you with options to present you, and at your thumbs up (it took him a few separate times to realize that meant ‘good’ or ‘yes’), would carefully slip them into the pouch at your hip. His fingers would sometimes catch and brush at the bare skin there and you repressed shivers even though you were far from being cold.

Bucky pretended not to notice, maybe it was a human thing.

You both regroup back on the mini coral island when you can’t stuff anymore shells into your knit pouch. Breathing a little heavily as you clusmily take off your mask (hey swimming all day is fucking exhausting) you laugh breathily at Bucky’s serene and patient expression across from you.

“I think next time I should bring a larger bag and an oxygen tank,” You comment as you untie the pouch from your hip and plop it proudly in the middle of the rock for both of you to see. 

Bucky smiles fondly at you as you start picking through the pouch for your favorite finds of the day. The setting sun casts the world into sparkling oranges and pinks to smear with the horizon of blue, creating this perfect background for Bucky to admire you in front of. He watches you intently look over the shells scattered haphazardly over the tiny island, picking happily thought the lot with a clean bright face revealed by your swept back wet hair. Steve told him how enchanting humans can be, regaling him with tales of spying on the beautiful human Peggy Carter who lived just down the shoreline.

In fact, Bucky and Sam always tease the seaweed out of Steve for his school-fish like crush on the human woman, but now Bucky gets it. He does. I mean not only did he get to look at you, and up close for that matter, but he got to touch your flesh, gawk at those eyes of yours, revel in the trust you put in him to pull you along, feel the length of your body on his back. Bucky now found himself inexorably  _fascinated_ with humans (or more specially you), and there was nothing in this ocean or the others that could change that for him.

And not only did you allow him to experience all that, but you didn’t revolt at the idea of him being what most humans believe to by myth and legend, you didn’t bombard him with questions about his existence, but just simply accepted him. Called him your friend, even. Bucky liked that about you, your knack to accept things.

You note that Bucky has been staring at you for some time, but you pretend to ignore it as you mindlessly continue sifting through the shells at your fingertips. If only you had the courage to stare at him like how he is regarding you, you would, but alas you aren’t that ballsy so here you are blushing down at sea shells.  

“Do you, are you – are you going to be near here? I mean are you planning on staying? Do you live, well that’s personal, um what I’m trying to say is –,”

“You can meet me anytime you want,” Bucky saves you from further choking on your word vomit, delivering a knowing smile when you finally raise your gaze to meet his. “Here,” He says as he reaches out to the pile of shells and picks up a sand dollar he found.

Before you can question his actions he also plucks a thin sharp shard of new sea glass from the pile as well and starts carving something carefully into the sand dollar. When he’s finished he regards his work with an intense quirked brow before offering the dollar to you with a half smile hanging casually on his lips. You take it carefully from him and see he’s carved some sort of intricate symbol into the pale white underbelly. 

“What is that?” You ask curiously, quite simply fascinated with your little gift as you raise the spotlight of your gaze back to Bucky, eyes alight with magic and universal secrets.

Bucky grins, proud his work caused your awed expression, and nods at the sand dollar in your hand, “That’s my pod crest, if you want to meet up you can place this anywhere along this reef and I’ll find it. We can agree to meet here as our designated spot the day after you leave it, if you like.”

He can’t help but smile as your own matching smile dawns blindingly on the gorgeous horizon of your face at his words.

“Bucky I wouldn’t like anything more! Wow this is so cool, seriously nothing like this ever happens to me.” You simmer excitedly as you trace the carved lines of Bucky’s pod crest with the pruned tips of your fingers. 

Bucky watches the precious way you cradle the sand dollar in your palm like if you breathe on it wrong it’ll shatter. He almost jumps right out of his tail when you snap your eyes up at him with a startling amount of near panic disturbing your once calm irises.

“This is real right? You’re real? This is happening?” You blurt and reach across the island to securely grab Bucky’s corded forearm resting against the rock. His warm skin and solid muscle reassures you, bringing you back from your edge of minor hysteria. No matter how accepting you are about him, he figured you’d have to have a moment like this eventually. 

Bucky malfunctions momentarily at your touch, but reboots in enough time to allow an idea to grace his mind. He raises one finger up at you, requesting your patience as he reaches that same hand plucks one of his thick silver glass scales from the patch near his waist.

“Here, just in case you need something  _real_ ,” Bucky details as he opens your other palm not holding the sand dollar (he didn’t think he could pry your fingers clutching that sand dollar like your life depended on it even if he tried). He gently places the slick scale in your palm, fingers brushing yours like a secret as he pulls away. 

You have an urge to snatch his webbed fingers back but resist. Instead, you gawk down at the beautiful scale sitting happily in your palm, winking up at you in the dying rays of the setting sun.

“You’re trusting me with this?” You ask in hushed reverence; Bucky is giving you physical proof of his existence. You could take this to any lab and start a phenomenon to expose him and his race. Plus, you didn’t know much about merpeople law, but you figured it would want to keep humans as far away from their society as possible (and understandably so). 

Bucky is surprised at your ability to grasp just how truly important this gesture is, how  _heavy_ it is. If anyone found out he willingly gave his own scales to a human especially under the circumstances of not knowing them more than a day and a half, he could be beaten or worse, put to death. Bucky pales a little at this realization,  _and_ the startling fact that he is steadfastly willing to risk that for you. Finding that he acted more on impulse and emotion rather than logic just now, Bucky is wildly comforted by the fact that you understand the weight this gift holds.

“Thank you Bucky, I, I’ll keep it safe.” You whisper under the density of the moment as your eyes connect and the color of both of your irises clash like a Pollock painting. 

_Those really are the bluest eyes you have ever seen…_

Bucky knows when you say ‘I’ll keep it safe’, you actually mean ‘I’ll keep  _you_ safe’. And he believes you.


	2. Wet Sand, Dry Sand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ITS FINALLY HERE! The much awaited second installment to the Merman!Bucky fic that was originally a drabble, then grew to become a series is finally updated haha! I’m truly sorry for making you all wait so long, I’ve been in a weird funk lately which is why none of my fics have been updated and why I’ve been pretty silent over messages! Forgive me? Anyway I hope you enjoy xx

_Something calls for you._

_The wind whispering through the open window washes over your hot skin, brushing sure fingers through your loose hair and kissing your sticky temple, pressing cool palms to your burning cheeks and caressing its invisible lips against your ears. There’s an elemental inhale and –_

_The world narrows then stills._

_Thick silence engulfs you, like your head slipping underwater; your eyes softly close at the esoteric sensation swirling in your chest – ink in water, magic in blood, staining your insides. Awakened by the touch of invisible tender fingers your soul floats to a place far away, below crashing waves and rocky cliffs, down down to secret depths of blue darkness. Only once you’ve reached this place, sense the yearning that throbs under the deceptive layer of quiet peace, only then does the wind sing it’s_   _song to you._

Go to him _, it lulls in your ears like waves lapping at the shore,_ Go to him _…_ Go to him…Come to me, _the wind hushes now with a new twist in its tone,_ Come to me _…_

 _From the clench of your heart you know that the voice the wind carries is_ his _. Basking in the brilliant belonging of his call you open your eyes and know that your soul is no longer yours. You feel it, feel_ him,  _in the very core of your being. There’s an elemental inhale and –_

_You go to him._

* * *

**A Month Earlier**

It’s been a week since you collected shells with Bucky the merman. You’re still not over how weird that sounds, even in your own head. You meant to leave the carved sand dollar he gave you by the reef like he instructed the very next day, but human things came back into existence the second you left the beach that late sparkling afternoon. Things like bills and assignments and up-keeping a pathetic excuse for a social life. You got your necessary business done, tried a hand at responsible adulting, then undid all your effort by making one of the most rash decisions in your entire life – you put down a deposit to rent a beach-front timeshare with the entirety of your savings.

The stretch of secluded coast the timeshare was perched above on sloping white cliffs, was the shore by the reef. Bucky’s reef.

It was like your rational mind had been violently murdered as you contacted the owners and made the purchase, the sand dollar and drying scale the only two things keeping you from checking yourself into a psych ward. You moved into your bad life decision two days after putting down the deposit. Making up some excuse about mental health issues, you got the next two weeks off of school too. Another probably horrible life choice to add to the ever growing list. But when the doubts started to really thicken and choke you, all you had to do was hold the sand dollar and scale tighter in your hands and all worry disappeared. No, this was worth it, Bucky was worth it. You severely doubted many people got the privilege to meet a merman – or merperson in general – and you weren’t going to waste this gift. 

You were going to  _cherish_ this goddammit.

The absolute giddiness that pumps in your body and spins your brain in your skull when you walk out the back porch of the timeshare, down the wooden stairs stiff with salt and sand sloping along the mild drop of the white cliff, to the nearly private beach and  _finally_ swim out to the reef to leave Bucky’s sand dollar among some colorful coral, is almost unbearable. Before leaving the house (well it was more a quaint studio apartment type space, meant for one maybe two people which was really all you could afford) you took multiple and very detailed pictures of the sand dollar, making sure that if it was accidentally lost or something you would have record of it. The symbol on it – Bucky’s  _pod crest_ – was really something spectacular. It seemed like a simple carving at a first glance, but once you looked more closely you observed a finesse to the workmanship. Running your fingers over it you realized that even the texture of the symbol in the white belly of the dollar varied with each sweeping curve or sharp edge.

It was  _magnificent_.

The scale though, was the real treasure. When you noticed about two days out of the water that it had shriveled into a near crisp you had flat out panicked. You never realized there might be a, a  _protocol_ to handling a merfolk’s scale (not that there would be any care material to reference). In a moment of near hysteria you filled a glass cup with tap water, dumped a copious amount of table salt in it, then carefully placed the scale at the bottom of the glass. Your breath had stuck in your throat as the palm sized scale transformed. 

It was like watching a high budget fantasy movie as the scale soaked up the water in seconds, changing from a dried, slightly smelly fish scale to the mesmerizing galactic silver glass you remember it had been when attached to Bucky’s waist. It drew light to itself, almost  _willing_  the sun to squeeze through the windows into the house from outside to be absorbed, trapped, and displayed like a lake of glittering silver stardust in the extraordinarily unworthy tap water. Glistening in the water like an ever glowing star –  _liquid mercury_ – you stood there gaping at it for near an hour. 

Like all truly divine things in nature, no matter how many pictures you took there was no way to capture the sheer unattainable beauty of it.

After your awestruck photoshoot you had quickly, if not a little hesitantly, deleted the pictures from your phone. You didn’t want to chance someone seeing it. The sand dollar wasn’t too weird, but an ethereal glimmering argent scale would definitely raise some questions. Ridiculously, you went out and bought a fish bowl, put some pretty glass rocks at the bottom, filled it with salt water, and displayed that scale like the treasure it was. You kept it by your nightstand and near carried the bowl around the house with you. It became something sacred, and honestly how could it not? To you the scale was pure  _magic,_ because in a world that constantly claimed nothing of the sort existed, the tiny blessing in your bowl defied them all.  

The tide rocks you cheekily as you float underwater, watching the sand dollar you just tucked carefully into the ribbing of a particularly brilliant pink coral like your life depends on it; to be honest you’re a bit afraid to part with it. Bucky had said you’ll meet the day  _after_ you leave the dollar, but a good portion of you hopes to wait until he comes to get it. There is an inescapable snag in your gut, like a hook in your heart that keeps tugging taught and unforgiving. You know the only way for that line to relax is to see Bucky in front of you again, feel his slick skin, watch his resplendent tail put all the beauty the universe could possibly have to offer to shame. Only when the sun starts setting do you grudgingly make your way back up to the house.

Of course at the first light of dawn you are back down those steps and wading into the surf, the morning thrown into rosy relief as the endless blue of the ocean hushes up at the sky, kissing the soft sun that rises seemingly from its watery depths. The gorgeousness of the world grants you momentary reprieve from the symptoms of a horrible nights rest. You had barely gotten any sleep, having stared at that scale most of the night, watching the unearthly array of cobalt and argent colors mixing and twinkling like it was  _alive_ in the weak light of moon that trickled in from the bedroom windows.

The ocean is cold and grumpy as it bites at your shins and sand scrapes at the souls of your feet. You choke back a groan at the rough bluntness of the sensation and force yourself not shiver at the temperature.

_Bucky is worth it._

Part of the urgency you feel is not just born from the desire to simply see Bucky, but to make sure that this is all real. You almost brought the scale with you, but decided against it. He will come. He said he would. With this thought and a steadying inhale, you brave your way into the waves flippers mask and all. Diving under the heavy iron surf makes your stomach clutch and your gut tighten in discomfort but you force yourself deeper. You wish that you had enough money leftover to buy a wetsuit because fucking  _Christ_ is it  _freezing_. Under the water it is still pretty dark as well, the light of day has yet to fully brighten the sky let alone reach down and warm up the sea. You grumble to yourself mentally in your usual way as you end up flailing out of the grey twilight of the water and up to the surface, dragging yourself onto the sandy shore. Watching the water reach to kiss the plastic edges of your flippers with each tide as you sit slumped – defeated – on the beach, you feel cold and tired and will be hungry soon most likely.

“Isn’t this supposed to be more glamorous?” You grump at the foamy bubble-spotted water sliding along pack wet sand as your fingers dig and burrow in the loose cool sand at your sides. 

The ocean doesn’t answer of course, if anything you bet its rolling its eyes at you as waves come crashing down to spray a bit of sea foam in your face courtesy of the chilly morning breeze. Ignoring this most likely imagined pettiness, you find yourself appreciating the taste of salt in the air and the calming rasp of the water against the sand. You lay down on your back futilely promising yourself that you  _won’t_ fall asleep, you’re merely resting your puffy sleep deprived eyes for a quick minute.

The ocean wheezes its amusement at the snoring human on its shore with another particularly strong wave that sends the frothy tide up to lick past your flippers and drench your calves. Pettiness indeed.

* * *

Bucky is  _late._

His tail beats ever harder and propels him faster through the water, faster than any other creature in the ocean could dream to manage. Feeding will have already ended but missing the meal is worth it.

_Y/n the human is worth it._

Bucky sacrifices a fraction of his speed by bringing his hand up to his face and looking down at the sand dollar with his pod crest carved into its belly clutched in his hand.

_She summoned me._

Bucky’s grin is grace itself as he fists his webbed fingers firmly but gently over the dollar, and regains his water-dynamic swimming form once more. He thought you had forgotten him; its been seven moons since he helped you collect shells. Bucky has been tearing himself apart trying to determine whether or not to tell the pod. Steve already has an obsession with humans, but he’s never dared to converse, touch, and communicate with one before. It’s not a matter of it he trusts Steve and Sam, its a matter of whether he wants to potentially put them in danger along with him. 

If the royalty of his kind ever found out their prized Warrior’s Three were involved with humans the consequences would be worse than death. And death is pretty terrifying to an immortal as it is. 

In record time Bucky makes it to the pod, easily tracking them with his sonar calls and enhanced senses to a cozy clearing cradled between forests of tall swaying seaweed. Forcefully shoving his turmoil out of his head, Bucky sees that Steve and Sam have adopted a new member into their pod. Bucky smiles and deliberately coaxes his eyebrows out of their knit as he approaches the new recruit. A bottlenose dolphin with a deformed and marred left flipper (most likely caught in a piece of plastic or netting as a calf) titters questioningly at him as Bucky glides to an elegant stop before the three males. Steve and Sam shoot forward to greet Bucky, whooping and chiding him in their language as they swim up and circle him closely, brushing their tails against his as they pass in a familiar and intimate hello. As they circle him the feel of their scales smoothing against his own immediately puts his mind at ease from its former seriousness.

“ _You’re late,”_ Steve echos Bucky’s earlier thoughts in a deep jesting series of chirps, as he flicks the tip of his own huge silver tail fluke against the sensitive scales below Bucky’s waist that conceal his cock. Bucky doesn’t even have time to wince and hiss at the blonde bastard in retaliation.

“ _You missed feeding.”_ Sam follows up quickly as Steve curves expertly out of the way so Sam can swoop in. He scratches the pointy thick ribbing of three inch tall copper fins sticking out along the side of his forearms against the top of Bucky’s head. His powerful thick bronze tail wraps around Bucky’s own argent one so he can’t move away from the obnoxious gesture of brotherly affection.  

“ _Hey just because you were born in the Warm Waters, doesn’t mean you get to use those forearm fins on every innocent non-tropic merfolk you come across.”_ Bucky accuses with a melody of good-natured baritone clicks and titters, knowing the distinct exotic forearm fins and bronze tail of the equator merfolk is something that is greatly revered in every ocean. 

But the fact that Sam knows this and works it to his advantage, sometimes has him just asking for a good scale plucking.

Sam only smirks at Bucky in that way only he can seem to pull off, and buffers away from Bucky’s bared teeth as the bottlenose enters the fray. Switching his attention away from Sam, the young bull looks like a humble lonely fellow. Bucky immediately takes to him. Nuzzling his nose and chin against the dolphin’s snout and doing a short dance of acquaintance, they become quick friends. The cry of happiness that comes from the dolphin when the greeting commences sends Bucky’s scales standing up in delight; the dolphin deserves so much more than the mere companionship of three rogue members of the great Warrior Pod, but Bucky would try to be worthy of him.

To have the trust and loyalty of a dolphin is no small honor. 

“ _What’s your name?”_ Bucky asks the bottlenose in the dolphin’s language, knowing the tongue of merfolk is too advanced for the creature to understand, even as advanced as the dolphin’s language already is. 

(Communicating with you had been an incredible struggle.)

The bull responds with a deliberate series of chirps which Bucky memorizes and then repeats back. The name translates roughly as Winter, an odd name for a dolphin but Bucky certainly wasn’t one to judge. Winter gitters his praise at Bucky when he says his name right, and when he declares Bucky’s name (a bit dumbed down) after Bucky sounds it out for him, Winter becomes officially a new pod member. 

Over the centuries the Warrior’s Three have adopted many abandoned or lost marine life in their mini pod since branching off from original Warrior Pod. And as three stray mermen themselves, they always feel the need to find similar souls and stick together. 

* * *

Steve and Sam don’t ask about the sand dollar Bucky thinks he’s hiding from them, nor do they protest his departure from the clearing at break of day. The two mermen only exchange a single private glance and hope Bucky will come to them with the story when he’s ready…or before its too late.

* * *

Bucky lasts fifty heart beats waiting by the unique pink coral where you left the sand dollar before the anxiety sets in. He should have specified when you would meet up and not left it open ended – not that he wouldn’t wait for you all day if he had to, because he embarrassingly would. Not being able to take the anticipation he swims back and forth in front of the block of reef, his tail pickles with an unscratchable itch as his scales stiffen and raise in a blatant show of unease, his gills stutter and clog, the webbing of his fingers snag on the sand dollar he’s worrying in his hands, and to top it all off he’s starving because he hasn’t eaten since yesterday. A hungry merman is not a friendly one. The fish swimming along the reef give him wide berths as they pass by, sensing that a powerful – if dormant – predator is aggravated. 

Really Bucky knows better than to give in to the urge to surface and search the shore for you from the shallows, but his instincts have seemed to been violently murdered because he finds his tail pushing him steadily towards the surface. When his upper body breaks the rocking surf, air gushes into his lungs as he takes a deep breath in with one big uncomfortable inhale that feels like drowning. His body quickly adjusts, but that initial surfacing is never pleasant. 

Knowing that his extensive tracking knowledge doesn’t apply to the rules of dry land, Bucky is left with very little to go off of. The line of the reef aligns with great white cliffs that divide the land before him, to the right where the cliff shoots up from the sand, the shore is chalk full of humans. Bucky’s sensitive ears pick up all sorts sounds; shrieks coming from the young, strange noise patterns blaring from small buds in humans’ ears or from ungodly looking boxes, and what Bucky can only guess is laughter (his only reference is yours) mixing in the air. 

On the left side of the cliff there is only one human laying in the sand on a generous stretch of empty beach. Human nesting boxes are set high on the clifftops and strange structures run down the flat front of white rock facing the ocean. Bucky cocks his head and listens from this distance to the sound of the human’s breath slowly leaving and returning from slightly parted lips. 

Bucky pretends that he chooses to go investigate the single sleeping human on the empty beach instead of the shore teeming with very much awake humans out of preservation of his secret existence, and not out of cowardice. The sun has risen to a decent height and its rays wink encouragingly at Bucky from their reflections on the glittering blue surface of the water. He ducks back under, relishing the feel of water-salt- _life_ pouring into his lungs, before making his way towards the lone human. 

Reaching the ledge where the packed seafloor dirt rises into loose rolling mounds of sand, right below where the waves break, Bucky contemplates his strategy. He doubts the human is Y/n, its a very plankton sized chance. 

 _Curse land tracking_ , Bucky grumps to himself mentally as he rolls his slick shoulders and swims over the ledge into the forbidden shallows. 

He has never been this close to shore before, which is thrilling but also the most uncomfortable he’s ever been in his life. Bucky’s heavy tail easily keeps him anchored against the tug and push of the waves crashing above him, only his long hair is effected and is being pulled around his face and shoulders. One peep above the surface will confirm if his search was a success, just one quick peep. If it isn’t you Bucky is swimming his scaly rear back to that reef and waiting, even if it kills him, because this is too much. Too risky. Too dangerous. His recently murdered instincts have thoroughly resurrected and are screaming at him as he floats into shallower and shallower waters. He’s probably the first of his kind to get this close to the shorein centuries. 

Bucky forces himself not to let his Gift swirl out of his control and seep into the water around him. He could easily stop the waves from crashing, could easily make the wild shallows as still as an untouched pond, but he refrains. That will look blatantly suspicious and if the human on that beach isn’t really sleeping, they’ll either be frightened or come closer. Both of which have dangerous out comes. 

So instead he clutches the sand dollar to his chest with one hand, presses the other palm to the loose sand floor to steady himself, and waits for the wave to  _curl-rise-crash_  over him. When he senses that brief moment when the tide lulls and is just about to be sucked back in, he floats up. The human looked to have been sleeping from the distance he was at originally when observing both shores, but if the human wasn’t asleep Bucky couldn’t risk sticking his entire upper body out of the water. So he only lets his eyes and the very top of the bridge of his nose hover out of the protection of the water. 

His heart pounds in his chest and his gills shut close when he sees that by some miracle, its you. Bucky  _found you_. He doesn’t even have the time to be upset that you’re sleeping and not already making your way to the reef because he sees that you’re in your strange human swimming gear. The clear thing that trapped your eyes and fed you air is resting in the sand above your head, those mock flippers are strapped to your feet, the knit pouch that Bucky and you collected shells in is tied to the fabric at your hip. 

For a moment Bucky is frozen still. The magnificence of you laying there sends him into a tizzy of awe and disbelief. Land folk lack the grace and fluidity that the underwater world possesses, but there is a  _rawness_ to them that he hasn’t seen in any other living being; Bucky observes completely enraptured. Before he can stop himself (and mostly out of habit) Bucky wards off the wave cresting behind him so it doesn’t crash over his head. He wills the current around him to avoid his figure, allowing for a non-disturbed viewing of the sleeping human woman. 

The soft morning sun kisses light into your hair and brings your lashes into shady relief against your cheeks. Your skin looks like it would be warm to touch as an enticing blush from the heat of the new day smears over your cheeks, chest, hips, thighs and tops of your feet. Bucky marvels at the sprawl of your limbs against the sand, vulnerable and trusting and in such an exposed position. His instincts crawl at the thought of sleeping without his pod around him, in an open clearing, where any creature might try to take advantage of him. Mostly predatory marine life steer clear of merfolk (as they sense they’d be greatly out matched), but sometimes you get a pest that comes snooping. 

But humans are much,  _much_ weaker than merfolk. 

Bucky momentarily panics because how is he supposed to protect you if something suddenly attacks you on land? In the water you’re the safest you could possibly be with him at your side, but out of the protection of the water…

His sharp eyes scan the beach expertly, not spotting any danger. His pointed ears take a turn diagnosing the safety of the shoreline and again come up empty of any possible threats. He braces himself for the fleeting horrible feeling of air rushing into his lungs as he rises further out of the surf so his whole head and neck are exposed. 

 _Closer_ , he wants to get  _closer_. 

Still gently willing the water around him to do his biding, he pushes his hair out of his face and straight back. Carefully, and oh so gently, he flicks his tail just a tiny bit to shoot himself forward until his scales drag against soft sand and his upper body is mostly on wet packed sand completely out of the water. He’s so close that if he reached out his fingers, he could touch the edge of your strange removable flippers. With the sand dollar still clutched in one webbed hand, Bucky – against all better judgement – triple checks they’re the only beings on this beach, digs both elbows into the thick sand, and  _hauls himself out of the water._

 And all that’s going through his head as he drags his body to line up beside yours, possibly dooming himself with each dig of his elbow in the sand, is:  _closer…closer…closer…closer…_

Last time you met Bucky in his territory, he deems it only fair to meet you this time on yours. He ignores the slightly painful scratchy sharp feeling of his scales against the hot sand, and instead focuses on being careful not to jostle you too much or accidentally scrape the edge of his slimy tail against your bare Legs, wanting a few more private moments to simply look at you. Now Bucky might be a warrior born and bred, but he knew true beauty when he saw it. 

Bucky’s been around for more time than he’s cared to keep track of, seen a lot of beautiful things, but you surpass them all. 

The sun on his sensitive slick skin is hot even at its softest morning glow, but he ignores this too as Bucky dares to lift a hand and touch you. He feels heavy out of the water, impossibly so, but he’s strong and adjusts to the weight of air easily as the tips of his webbed fingers gently brush hair out of your face. The texture feels strange but oddly soft against the thick tough pads, the colors of the strands in the sun shining differently then they did in the water. Last time he saw you your hair had been wet, but dry its a lighter shade. 

 _Fascinating,_ Bucky thinks to himself as he gains a little more confidence and lowers his face to hover above yours with a mere couple inches of space in between. 

His sense of smell is disorientatingly different out of water and is starting to make his head dizzy, but the features of your face that he didn’t get to poke and prod last time are open for observation and he’s not wasting that kind of opportunity. When you were collecting shells, oddly you seemed to keep your face at a distance but were fine with the rest of your body being touched. 

(Sometimes when he brushed your skin just right, bumps would appear. You never paid any notice so he chalked it up to a subconscious human bodily function.) 

Whenever Bucky had tried to get in close to your face, you would move away and a pinkness would show up in your cheeks. Bucky tested this reaction a few times to make sure he wasn’t imagining it, leaning in close when he would bring back a shell to put in your pouch. He still couldn’t begin to decode what that communicative response meant but he hoped it wasn’t bad. Because dolphin’s blushed when they were happy, attempting to impress, or…trying to attract a mate. But you didn’t display the same giddiness a dolphin did when their underbellies pinked, in fact you only seemed more closed off. With strange airy sigh, he carefully places those thoughts aside. 

Now though, with you asleep, he has free reign to commit your facial features to memory along with the detailed cataloging of your legs he took last time. 

The curves and angles of your face are similar, in its general structure, to his own, but there are strongly marked differences; you have no gills, your skin is dry and not constantly producing small coatings of slick like his does to move through the water better, your ears are round not pointed and flared out to easily catch sound waves, your fingers are  _separated_ , your hair is thicker than his (he has an unusual amount of hair for a water breather, especially since he’s a warrior and usually they don’t have any hair at all to avoid extra drag in the water), and the coloring of your skin is more vibrant than his own pale slightly greyish-blue tint to help him better blend in under the water. 

Bucky remembers how the face below him smiled at him, those eyes hidden behind delicate eyelids  _looked_ at him like he was something out of legend. With a start, Bucky realizes that he  _is,_ just as you are a legend to him. He also remembers how you called him friend…

Without any hesitation he brings his webbed fingers to cup the sides of your warm cheeks and dives down to enthusiastically rub his nose along the bridge of yours, a friendly greeting like the one he gave to Winter. 

Your response to this was, to say the least,  _not_ what he expected. 

* * *

“Jesus Chri –  _SHIT!”_ With a shout you sit up and promptly smack your head on an honest to god granite rock.  _“_ Fucking  _shit_ OW!” 

A strange strangled chittering noise sounds loudly above you as you blink your eyes open to see spots twinkling in your field of vision, revealing a head-shaped shadow with a halo of blurred sunlight around it. With a choked cry of panic you scramble out from under the massive shadow, swiping subconsciously at your face to find it wet and a little slimy –  _the fuck?_

More suspiciously dolphin-like noises sound softly this time, almost cooing, from the shadow as you furiously blink like a motherfucker to regain your full vision in the bright light of day. Only when your eyes clear and your pupils collect themselves do you realize what – or more like  _who_ – the shadow is. 

“ _Bucky_?” You hush breathlessly as you watch in absolute shock the merman in front of you blink lazily at you, as if you hadn’t just slammed your forehead to his with all your might. 

“Do all humans have such soft skulls?” He asks genuinely but with that coy curl to his voice, as his focus on you is just as intense as you remember it. 

Before your brain can supply a snarky rebuke to that statement, you really take in the full sight of him. He’s leaning on both elbows belly flat on the beach, thick corded forearms coated in sand from the slight wrestling, big webbed hands cradle his chin as it cocks slightly to the side; his chest muscles push together beneath a stunning collarbone and an even more stunning face. 

God your memory really didn’t do him any sort of justice. 

His face is just as breathtaking and ethereal as you remember it; the wide sharp jaw, carved high cheekbones, deep-set eyes that seem to be the same color as his tail, low thick brows, full generous lips, and dark coffee hair that stuck in ribbons to his face and shoulders. No one should be able to pull off wet long hair, but of course if anyone could, a merman would be an understandable exception.  

You forget all cognitive form of thinking as you end up just staring, mouth slightly open, in the face of all this vicious beauty. His heavy tail fluke –  _fuck is it possible that his tail got even more resplendent since the last time you saw it?_ – curls up and hangs above where his ass would be if he had one. Lean, strong defined tail muscles bunch under the skin of shimmering scales in the arch of the large appendage. 

“How’re you even real,” You whisper mostly to yourself but Bucky catches your words easily in his sensitive ears. 

All form of playfulness suddenly falls from Bucky’s face as he openly stares back. Something in his face shifts and his eyes become  _galaxies_ –

“Human languages are incapable of expressing how extraordinarily beautiful I find you.” 

Your cheeks burn at that ridiculously undeserved compliment but you don’t feel like you have the right to refuse it, the moment too sacred and esoteric to be ruined by a mere human like you. Bucky’s eyebrows furrow in fascination when he notices that pink color rising in your face. So things other than simple close proximity makes humans blush? How confusing. Deciding to test his newly abridged theory, he moves into your space with a quick powerful drag, lifts a hand to cup the back of your neck, and shoves your noses together in a painful clash. Maybe if he says hello again you’ll blush in the same way (because if you did, could that mean you consider him a possible mate?). Bucky thanks the Ocean that he’s laying on his stomach because his belly blushes rose against the sand. 

You make an embarrassing snorting noise of surprise as Bucky furiously rubs your noses together like his life depends on it. 

Not really knowing what the actual fuck to do, you let him continue and wait for it to be over trying not to wince with the force of it. When Bucky pulls back and sees that your cheeks look  _exceptionally_ rosy now he cataloges the information and moves back. 

 _Don’t get your hopes up,_ Bucky reminds himself as he squirms a little,  _humans may not have the same mating rituals._

After a minute of incredibly awkward silence (at least  _you_ feel awkward, Bucky seems happy as a fucking clam to lay there and just stare at you like there’s nothing socially weird about it) and the dull throbbing sensation in your nose tapers off so it doesn’t burn your sinuses, do you try to gain some context. 

“So is the nose rubbing thing a custom of your people?” You try neutrally, discreetly prodding your nose with your fingers to make sure it wasn’t broken or fractured. 

Bucky’s bones must be much stronger than yours because  _damn_ did this merman not know his own goddamn strength. 

The merman in question pauses pensively, seeming like he’s trying to gauge your reaction. He cocks his head (which you’re gathering is a quirk of his, which is totally adorable) in thought while his eyes religiously follow your fingers as they check your nose. Bucky nods then says carefully,

“It is how we say hello to a friend.” 

“Oh.” You respond dumbly, feeling simultaneously giddy at the reminder that Bucky considers you a friend and also suddenly worried that you may have offended him by not being enthusiastic in returning the gesture.  

“I take it by your expression that this is not even close to any human custom. I apologize if I have offended you.” Bucky states gravely as an expression of poorly concealed mortification starts to spread across his god-like features. 

You stumble over yourself to quickly assure him that you feel quite the opposite, “NO! No I’m not – not offended, no not at all, just caught a little off guard is all.”

Bucky still looks unsure so you swallow your nerves and awkwardly clamor across the sand between you so you are kneeling before him. You bend down and shakily frame his face in your hands, before closing your eyes and leaning in to rub your nose (a little more gently than Bucky did to you because honestly it was kinda rough and it kinda hurt) against his. 

“Hello,” You murmur softly when you pull back, catching Bucky’s eyes and giving him a shy smile. 

Your bravery is rewarded with one of the most breathtaking smiles you will ever see. No man will ever hold a candle to the smile on Bucky’s face right now. He’s ruined you for anyone else…great. 

Bucky feels his stomach burning in another deep blush and again thanks the Ocean that he’s laying down.

“How do land folk say hello?” He finds himself asking curiously through his tummy blush, wanting to learn more about human customs so he can navigate them and distinguish what you might be feeling. 

_Closer…closer…closer…_

Blinking at you with these big innocent cerulean eyes, you try your best not to get lost in their depths as you clear your throat and hold out your right hand to him. 

“Well it varies for different cultures, but in mine,” You trail off as Bucky’s attention whips down to the offered appendage and he stares at it studiously, almost going cross-eyed waiting for something to happen. You bite your lip and try to keep the giggle out of your voice when you speak again. 

“Give me your left hand,” You prompt brightly after another healthy minute of him staring, watching as he shifts on his elbows and lifts his hand so its level to yours, mirroring your hand’s position. “This,” You say as you close your hand are his cool padded webbed one and start gently shaking it up and down, “Is how we say hello.” 

Bucky pauses and snaps his gaze up from your clasped hands to eye you strangely –  _sharply_ , almost  _hurt,_ but before you can ask what’s wrong he voices his concern. 

“This is not the greeting of two friends?” 

You roll your eyes – stupid over observant merman – and let the giggle you’ve been holding back break free, the sound tinkling in the air between you wild and carefree.

Bucky wishes he could trap the noise in a clam and show it to Steve and Sam.  

“I was starting with the basics you big dolt, but if you want to know how human friends greet each other you’re gonna have to sit up.” Comes your response as, grinning, you watch Bucky eagerly flop around so he ends up sitting on his tail, fins curled heavily in the sand to one side. 

Bucky is grateful his blush has gone down as he positions himself to face you while subconsciously brushing some of the sand off his chest. 

“You open your arms like this,” You instruct as you open your arms wide to the side and lean into him slowly, “Then close them around your friend’s body.” 

Hugging a merman is definitely something you never in a million years thought you would be doing. But embracing him is  _heaven_. His torso and back and chest are as solid as they look, packed muscle and lithe strength carving the terrain of his tough skin. His long arms are robotic as they crank around you, chin sharp as it jabs into your shoulder a bit as you pull him in close, but once Bucky understands that this is all the gesture entails – how easy! – he squeezes you suddenly so tight, air gushes from your lungs and your ribcage creaks under the pressure. 

“Bucky that’s too tight!” You squeak in slight panic but not daring to let him go. 

Another odd dolphin-like cooing noise chirps in your ear as Bucky immediately loosens his arms and adjusts them to match your grip around him. 

“What is this called?” Bucky says in a husky salt raw throat. 

A stillness settles over the two of you.

“A hug.” Comes your answer in a matching raw tone. 

“Ahug?” Bucky repeats in a weird abridged version of the two words. 

“No, well – well it’s technically called ‘hugging’, like we are hugging right now, but if I were to ask you to do what we are doing another time, I would say, ‘Can I have a hug?’ or something generally around that.” You cringe at your below average grammar lesson. 

Practically hearing the cogs turning in Bucky’s brain, you expect him to be confused but instead he only huffs out a laugh (still not loosening his grip on you) and nods shortly by your ear. 

“Your language is confusing in how base it is.” 

You try not to balk at the unintentional insult, rather you marvel at the fact that under the water there is an intelligent race that would probably overthrow the human world in 0.2 seconds if they could walk on land. 

“How long do these hugs usually last?” Bucky asks contently, thinking the physical communication of the land folk is even poorer than their spoken language. If he were to ‘hug’ a dolphin, a friend like Winter, it would be insulting in how low effort and one note the dance or display of friendship is. 

A real dance of friendship would be at least 2 tide changes long. 

But Bucky knows human culture is different and reminds himself not to feel let down. Y/n the land walker is showing him all she can, and he will cherish it. 

“As long as you want.” You answer and Bucky feels even better. 

* * *

You spend the rest of the day looking for pretty shells and small treasures while also becoming more and more familiar with Bucky. In multiple and frequent moments of awe, you realized that you had met a creature made of magic and beauty, realized you were in the presence of something too bright for you to ever fully see, to ever fully understand. With the greed humans are known for, you horded the moments with Bucky to yourself and vowed to die before you shared him – even the  _idea_ of him, even his goddamn name – with anyone else. 

_He is yours and nothing in this world is going to take him from you._

_She is mine and nothing in this ocean is going to take her from me,_ Bucky vows to himself as he watches that telltale curious pink sprawl across your cheeks when he comes up to you under the water, and touches his lips to the base of the plastic tube protruding from your mouth and stretching your lips. 

* * *

In the deep watery shadows and out of sight, Steve and Sam watch their brother in arms with shared tail twisting horror. The way he moves around It – It, Human _, W_ _oman –_ moves with such care and tenderness, touches It like It’s precious, like It won’t trap him and torture him and enslave him and display him in a glass box full of chemical-pumped water, like he  _loves_ It _–_

Steve had his obsession with a female land walker like any other progressive imaginative merman, but this is different. This is  _dangerous_. 

The Warriors Three protect each other above all else, above Orders, Rank, Banishment, Imprisonment, Mate Matching, and even above their basest instinctual charge of duty: the Ocean itself. 

Steve and Sam don’t even need to look at each other to know that they’ll gladly add The Legendary Fickle Love of a Land Walker to that list. Silver and Bronze tails coil before webbed hands draw whale bone weapons, points and edges sharp, deadly, and aimed right at the Human.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what do you think? Yay or nay? I’m so re-inspired to continue this! I’m sorry if this isn’t as long as you were hoping but I tried x

**Author's Note:**

> This was so pure wow, my soul feels cleansed lol. Merman!bucky could cure cancer xxx


End file.
